(This is an excerpt. It may differ from final version)
They call it the Big Apple.
Never understood what was big about it until I peeled the label.
See as I stood there Inspired by Words like in my last chapel
I realized that I was able to be a symbol
Like the man in the cool suit,
A resonated melody to be that musical cymbal
Vibration of base beats from my Beats headphones let the bellows of the Nuyorican beat with each beat to beat me back to New York and
pound the poetic trails of those wishing to be New Yorkians
Or New Yorkers
I count each step with a literary microscope from Thirty Fifth Street to South Houston
Trying to retrace the steps of Gil Scott Heron
I’m new here
The same while, I’m hoping that I could write rhymes like linguists wrapping rhymes between rizla sheets
Puff, puff, smoke and mirrors they say
as bluntly as trying to say goodbye and choking
Now I’m standing at One and One
First Avenue and First Street, Hoping
Today I will write about when I could write about anything and everything and it was read like I wrote something worthwhile.
I birth miles of lingering words from
Port Jeff to Grand Central,
from Syosset to Mineola,
from Ronkonkoma to Brooklyn
full poem to be performed in New York in 2013 (G.w.)